The Lost Treasure of Trevlyn: A Story of the Days of the Gunpowder Plot by - (red queen ebook txt) 📗

his arms, and swung them backwards and forwards with a gesture strangely unlike that of age; and throwing back his broad shoulders, he began pacing to and fro in the cave with a firm, elastic tread seldom seen after the meridian of life is passed.

"Joanna is right," thought Cuthbert, crouching closer against the wall and into the shadows; for he had no wish to be discovered by this giant, who would probably have scant mercy upon an observer who might have taken his measure and discovered his secret now that he was off his guard. "In all truth this man is not old; he can scarce be above forty years. It is by some clever artifice that he whitens his beard to that snow-like hue. He himself is young and strong. He shows it in every movement."

He certainly did, pacing to and fro with rapid strides; and presently he began to mutter words and phrases to himself, Cuthbert listening with all his ears.

"A curse upon the women!" he said more than once; "they are the very plague of my life! Miriam's besotted love, Joanna's suspicions and her accursed watch upon me, both hinder my plans. If the twain were in league together, it could not be worse. Miriam implores me with tears and lamentations to wait till she be laid in the tomb for the fulfilment of my cherished dream. And if I thwart her too far, there is no telling what she may not say or do. Love and hate in jealous natures such as hers are terribly near akin, and the love may change to burning hatred if once I provoke her too far. She knows not all, but she knows too much. She could spoil my hand full well if she did but tell all she knows. And that jade Joanna, how I hate her! She has been well drilled by that witch Esther, who ought long ere this to have been hanged or burned. I would I could set the King's officers on her now, but if I did I should have the whole tribe at my throat like bloodhounds, and not even my great age would serve to save me from their fury.

"Ha, ha! ha, ha!" and a sardonic laugh rang through the cave. "Would that I could wed Joanna to Tyrrel, who would give his soul to call her his. Once the wife of a member of the band, and some of her power would go. I misdoubt me if any would long call her queen; and when she had babes to fill her mind and her thoughts, she would soon cease to watch me with those suspicions eyes of hers, and to make me fear continually for my secret. Would that they were both dead! Would that I could kill them even as he killed the other seven who had a share in the golden secret! I would strangle them with my own hands if I did but dare. Once those two removed from my path and my way would be plain. I could remove it all, bit by bit and piece by piece, away from this accursed forest, of which I am sick to the death. Then in some far-off foreign land of perpetual sunshine, I could reign a prince and a king, and life would be one long dream of ease and delight; no more toil, no more privation, no more scorching summer heat or biting winter cold. I have seen what the life of the East is like--the kneeling slaves, the harem of beauteous dark-eyed women, the dream-like indolence and ease. That is the life for me. That is whither I and my treasure will go. A plague upon old Miriam, that she clings to these cold forests and the sordid life we live here! But for her insane jealousy and love I would defy Joanna and go. But the pair of them are too much for me. I must find a way of ridding myself of one or both. I will not be bound like this for ever!"

The man raised his right hand and shook it with a vehement, threatening gesture; and then relapsing into sudden moody silence, continued his pacing to and fro, wrapped in gloomy thought.

Cuthbert held his breath as this monologue proceeded, and a sense of unlooked-for triumph made his heart swell within him. Here was proof positive that the treasure lay still in the forest; that it had not been taken thence and dissipated; that it still remained to be found by his unremitting endeavours. The youth felt almost as though the victory were already his. What might not a few weeks of patient perseverance bring? He would dog Robin's' steps like a bloodhound. He had not been brought up to hardship and forest life for nothing. To sleep in the open, to live scantily on such fare as might be picked up at the huts of the woodmen or in the camps of the gipsies, was nothing to him. He would live on roots and wild fruits sooner than abandon his quest. Nothing should come between him and his overmastering resolve to win back for the house of Trevlyn the long-lost treasure.

But as he mused and Robin impatiently paced the floor of the cavern, the torches burned slowly down, till one flickered and went out and the other showed signs of speedy extinction. Robin, with a start and an oath, stopped in his walk and muttered that he must be gone. He placed upon his head the slouched hat, that at once concealed his features, and gave a different expression to his face. As he donned his hat and took up a heavy oaken staff that lay upon the table, his whole aspect changed. He seemed to don likewise a new action, a new outward appearance altogether. His straight back bent and assumed a stoop such as one sees in men who have long grown old. There came a feebleness into his gait, a slight uncertainty into his movements. And all this was done so naturally, so cleverly, that Cuthbert, as he gazed fascinated at the figure before him, could scarcely believe that his eyes had not played him some strange trick--could scarcely credit that this could be the same being as the upright, stalwart man, whose movements he had been watching during the past half hour. But all this only went to show how shrewd Joanna's surmise had been, and every corroborating fact increased Cuthbert's confidence in all that she had told him.

Leaving the last torch to die into obscurity by itself, Long Robin made for the opening in the wall which led to the outer cave, and Cuthbert rose swiftly and silently and crept after him, gaining the opening in time to see the tall figure slouching across the moorland track in the direction of the westering sun.

Afraid of following too closely, and so of being seen, Cuthbert retreated once more into the cave, and had the forethought to fill his wallet with the remains of the meal of which both he and Long Robin had partaken. He did not know exactly what was his best course to pursue, but it seemed a pity to let Long Robin out of his sight without tracking him to some one of his lairs or hiding places.

Cuthbert now knew that he had slept during the greater part of the day, and taking a draught of mead, and rapidly munching some bread and cheese, he fortified himself for his evening stroll, and then, before the torch actually expired, found his way to the opening again, and so out upon the moor.

Far away, but still distinctly visible against the bright sky, was the tall figure of the gipsy. Cuthbert was not afraid of being seen at so great a distance, but he still took the precaution of keeping all the tallest bushes and clumps of flowering gorse between him and the quarry he was following; and when at length the trees of the wooded tracts rose up before his eyes, he quickened his pace slightly, and gained decidedly upon Robin before he glided into the dark pine forest.

Before doing this, the gipsy turned back and looked carefully round; but Cuthbert was already crouching behind a bush, and escaped observation. As soon as Robin had fairly disappeared, the youth rose and ran quickly after him, and soon caught glimpses of the tall, stooping figure wending its way amongst the ruddy pine stems, now dyed golden and crimson in the glow of the bright sunset.

On and on he went in the fading light, and on and on went Cuthbert in steady pursuit. This part of the forest was strange to the youth, but it was familiar enough to the gipsy. From the mechanical way in which he chose his track, and the direct certainty with which he walked, it was plain that he knew every inch of the road, and could have found the path by night as well as by day.

"Sure it must lead to the haunted dell," thought Cuthbert, as the gloom deepened around him and the wood grew denser and denser. The pines began to be mingled with other trees. The undergrowth was thicker and more tangled. It was not always easy for Cuthbert to force his way along. He paused sometimes in fear lest his steps and the cracking of the boughs should be heard by the man in advance of him.

On and on they went, and now the track became more distinct, and it led downwards. An owl in a tree overhead hooted as Cuthbert passed by, and something of a cold shiver ran through the young man's frame; he stumbled over the outspread root of a gnarled old oak, and fell, making more noise than he liked.

The owl flew away, hooting ominously as it seemed to his strained nerves, and the hooting was answered as from the very heart of the dell, if dell it was, mingled with many other strange and fierce sounds. Cuthbert rose to his feet and crept forward with a beating heart, and as he did so he heard a shout of demoniacal laughter which chilled the very blood in his veins, and seemed to raise the hair upon his head, so unearthly was the sound.

But making the sign of the cross upon his brow, and striving to keep his presence of mind and his courage unimpaired by ghostly terrors, Cuthbert still pursued his way downwards into this dim, strange place. He felt more and more certain that this was the pixies' dell of which the verses spoke--the dell wherein some deed of darkness had been committed that caused it to be shunned of all; and it needed all his native stoutness of heart to enable him to conquer his fears and pursue his way, as he reflected on the foul murders that had been committed not far off, and wondered if indeed the restless souls of those to whom Christian burial had been denied hovered by night about the ill-omened spot, to fright away all travellers who strove to pass that way.

For a while the fearful sounds of hooting and laughter continued, under cover of which he crept nearer and nearer to the centre of the dell. Presently they ceased, and a death-like silence ensued. Cuthbert dared not move, and scarcely dared to breathe. This was the most trying experience he had yet had. He had felt far less fear on the darkly-flowing river and in that strange underground cellar, against both of which the wise woman had warned him.

But after a long pause of silence he heard another and a different laugh--a laugh in which he recognized the sardonic intonation he had recently heard from the lips of Long Robin.

"I trow that has been enow," spoke a voice nigh at hand, though the speaker was invisible owing to the thick growth of bushes. "If that sound were caused by aught but a rabbit or wildcat, I wager the hardy traveller has taken to his heels and fled. But I misdoubt me that it was anything human. There be sounds and to spare in the forest at night. It is long since I have been troubled by visitors to this lone spot. The pixies and I have the dell to ourselves. Ha, ha!"

"Robin's voice again!" whispered Cuthbert to himself, creeping forward with the cautious, snake-like movement that he had learned when snaring birds or rabbits to furnish the scanty larder at the Gate House. He advanced by slow degrees, and soon gained what he desired--a view of his quarry and of the heart of the dell.

In the fading light he could see both plainly. Long Robin was seated upon a low stone wall overgrown with moss, that seemed to be built around a well; for it was of circular construction, and to the listener was borne the faint sound of running water, though the sound seemed to come from the very heart of the earth. Round this well